Cacoëthes
by sunshineditty
Summary: Derek hadn't known what he wanted or needed until someone else had it. Maybe the sentiment is from the playground, but it's true: you don't know what you're missing until its gone. Part 3 of No Regrets 'Verse
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Cacoëthes

**Author**: Sunshineditty

**Series**: Part of the No Regrets 'verse

**Word count:** 1,093

**Rating: **T for situation

**Summary: **Stiles can be utterly incomprehensible at times, but then there are times when Derek completely understands.

* * *

"You know, I used to compose odes to your eyebrows."

"You did what?"

"Your eyebrows were epic. They still are, don't get me wrong, but you've learned how to use the rest of your facial muscles so it's not as important to decode the secret language of your eyebrows."

"Are you high?"

"Maybe. Since I don't need to write poetry to your brows any more, I'll have to find something else to worship."

Derek moans when Stiles kisses his way south, lips and tongue and teeth making it very clear which body part he likes best.

Several heart-stopping minutes later, Stiles pulls back with a dirty-sounding slurp, the strings of pre-cum and drool connecting his mouth to Derek's dick. He thinks it's his favorite look besides when Stiles is splayed across his bed knees to chest and begging, or maybe as charming as Stiles on all fours, eyes dark as he glares over his shoulder and shouts "Fucking hurry already."

"Wh-why you stop?" Clarity of mind is impossible when he has a nude Stiles in the vicinity, though clothed Stiles is just as alluring since Derek is the only one now who knows what lies beneath. A sharp slap to his thigh, dangerously close to his bobbing dick, startles him out of his instinctive and completely rational red-eyed death glare and threatening growl at the mere thought of someone else knowing what Stiles looks like naked.

"Dude, mind back in the gutter please." The pout forming on those delectable lips is fascinating, though not as much as when they're wrapped around his dick. "You do realize you're saying this out loud, right?"

Derek blushes a little, turning his head away from the lamp on Stiles' desk so the younger male can't see it. "You're a bad influence," he mutters, serious despite the situation. It is absurd how much of his emotional health is wrapped up in one-hundred seventy pounds of fragile bones and paper-thin skin. The years have been kind to Stiles, stretching him into the shape of a well-made man, his mind sharper and more focused, an incredible asset to Derek as both Alpha and lover.

"I missed you too, Derek," Stiles responds quietly, all traces of levity wiped from his expressive face. "I know being away from me is hard, but its only for a little while longer."

Derek is forced into action, kneeling so he faces Stiles, and traces the scar bitten deep into his chest. The mark is Peter's claim, taking from Derek what he hadn't known he wanted or needed until someone else had it. Maybe the sentiment is from the playground, but it's true: you don't know what you're missing until its gone.

Stiles' long elegant fingers cover his, pressing hard, a silent acknowledgment of Derek's pain and endless guilt, yet also a reminder of what they have here and now. Their innocence is long gone, shattered beneath the weight of their actions and others reactions, but they still have one another despite it all. At one time, he hadn't properly understood or accepted exactly how important Stiles was in the grand scheme, so this moment with him is precious and meant to be hoarded as all things tangible must be.

The clash of their mouths is desperate and cruel, the heat of need and panic driving their baser instincts. Derek knows he should slow down, use blunt fingertips to open Stiles properly, but the wolf is in control, needing to impart his ownership of the slighter male so the world will know he is cherished and loved, adored and possessed. He is incapable of telling Stiles any of this and can only express the fury of his heart through the marks he leaves on the pale skin; it soothes something deep inside when he still sees the blooming rose of purple and black, knowing Stiles' werewolf biology should instantly heal it yet doesn't.

The slap of flesh upon flesh is obscene in the hushed stillness, their hearts pounding in tandem as they push one another to higher and higher plateaus of sensations. Derek's mind is lost beneath the primal instincts of a mating wolf, so he doesn't remember pinning Stiles to the carpeted floor with his legs propped over Derek's shoulders as he hammers into him, breath sawing in and out of his heaving chest. The chunk of flesh he loses to Stiles' canines is necessary, blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh given in holy fucking sacrament; if he could tear his organs from his still living body to feed him, Derek would and never count the cost.

Inevitably, however futilely they try to stave it off, they must sunder their union and come back to their individual bodies, lonely and heart-rending as it is. Derek kisses each inner ankle bone, laving the vulnerable arches, before regretfully pulling back and allowing Stiles to curl into himself again, though Derek's scent is now firmly entrenched beneath the skin.

He is fascinated by how trusting and accepting Stiles is, half-asleep despite the very real danger at his back; he wishes he had the strength to ask about the long-past days of Stiles' time beneath Peter's yoke, but Derek knows he won't be able to hear the tale without rage creeping into his muscles, clenching his fists. He will strike out at Stiles because he can't do it to Peter, jealousy a toxic brew he can't afford to quaff. Stiles is _his_ in all the ways that matter, has _always_ been his even when Derek hadn't realized, but he can't forget he didn't make him wolf, he isn't truly Pack.

Peter has already taken so much from him - Laura, a haven in Beacon Hills - yet the most hateful is how Derek constantly wonders if Stiles will grow weary of him and finally leave, resentful of the constant questioning of his motives and loyalty. He doesn't understand why Stiles keeps coming back to him, an Alpha in his own right with no need to bare his throat either literally or metaphorically.

"You're thinking too loud again. C'mere, the day is coming fast and you need sleep."

Derek snorts, glad to be shed of his weighty thoughts, and noses at Stiles until he resettles into the hollows and planes of Derek's body, the perfect complement.

"I would kill for you," he whispers into his lover's ear.

"I have killed for you," is the unexpected drowsy response. "I always will."

Derek sleeps content.

* * *

**A/N: **Cacoëthes is defined as : an insatiable desire, mania. Latin, from Greek kakoēthes wickedness, from neuter of kakoēthēs malignant, from kak- cac- + ēthos character


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Cacoëthes

**Author**: Sunshineditty

**Series**: Part of the No Regrets 'verse

**Word count:** 1921

**Rating: **T for situation

**Summary: **Derek learns some hard truths about Stiles' past.

* * *

Derek knows what betrayal looks like: at sixteen it was wrapped up in the blond (fire) bombshell who burned his life around his ears. Eleven years later it is reflected in amber brown eyes peering up at him through strawberry blond curls.

"What's this?"

Stiles grimaces. "Really? That's how this is going to play out? We're going to pretend we don't know a cub when we see one?"

It's almost a relief to feel the cutting emotional pain; he's always secretly worried things with Stiles are going too well because it seems as if two Alphas, even reluctant ones at that, shouldn't be able to coexist so easily. He steadfastly ignores the knowledge both his parents were Alphas who were happily mated because it doesn't fall into his mental paradigm of_ if it's too good to be true it is_.

"Fine. _Who_is she?"

He really doesn't need to know as cubs smell like their parents for the first few years of their lives and this one smells like Stiles and Lydia Martin.

"Jocelyn Elizabeth Martin Stilinski-Hale."

Derek jerks at the last last name, his claws and fangs out before he can check the telling action. "How dare you use Hale for this abomination!"

Stiles doesn't react except to crouch down to cradle his cub's back against his chest, his large hands (at least against her small head) gently muffling her ears. He should've looked foolish with the girl's pink and green ruffled dress against his plaid overshirt, but instead it looks natural. _Right_. It makes Derek even angrier and also sadder; he hadn't really thought about the future of their relationship because he doesn't truly think they'll last, but sometimes, especially lately, he's dared to dream of combining their packs rather than meeting up every few days for "talks" which usually devolve into sex despite their best intentions. Stiles jokes it's five years worth of pent up sexual tension, but Derek knows it's his wolf's desperate need to mark and claim the younger male. If he rubs his scent in deep enough, he can pretend Peter hasn't permanently marked Stiles for life.

"Because I'm a Hale and she deserves to be recognized under the law." The words are spoken calmly, Stiles obviously not wanting to scare the cub, though she has her father's foolhardy courage as she hadn't even flinched at Derek's half-transformation and angry tone. "But if you call her an abomination one more time I will rip your spine out through your throat."

It should've sounded silly, a nonsensical threat, but Derek has seen Stiles fight before and knows this isn't Stiles his lover, but Alpha Stilinski-Hale speaking. In his bitterness he'd forgotten Peter had forced Stiles to legally change his name so the cub really _was_a Hale.

"Stiles - " he begins helplessly, suddenly realizing how easily this could crumble. Even though Josie was Lydia's, there isn't a sexual relationship between them _now_. He'd be able to smell her scent all over him and while it is there faintly, as per usual between packmates, it isn't as strong as a lover's would be.

"Josie my love, why don't we go out to Mommy in the living room," Stiles faux-whispers as he combs his fingers through her tangled locks. The girl stops staring up at Derek and does a backward head turn that makes him cringe at the extension of her neck muscles, but obviously isn't painful for her because she giggles at how weird her daddy looks like upside down. Suddenly he doesn't see Stiles' betrayal in cub-form, but his little sister Moira and how making her laugh was his favorite game.

"Mama!" she exclaims excitedly, and grabs a hold of Stiles, apparently waiting for the flip that has her flopped over his shoulder like a sack of rice. The decibels of her pleasure are ear-splitting for Derek and he isn't the one who had her right next to his head. Stiles doesn't bother looking at him as they make their way from the kitchen into the connect living room, the swishing door a silent condemnation of his response. Derek groans and hits his head against the counter several times, wishing he could redo the last ten minutes.

Lydia knocking at the front door should've tipped him off that something was rotten in the state of Denmark, but he'd been too surprised by her visit. While Stiles and Derek were often together - and their scents made it clear _exactly_what they got up to in their closed door meetings - the two packs hadn't come together in any formal way yet despite Beacon Hills being Stiles and Lydia's childhood home. Their inclusion into a rival pack - regardless of the familial connection - made their move back problematic. Neither Stiles' or Derek's new packmates were from the area originally, so the integration of new wolves used to fighting made negotiations tricky. It helped that both Jackson and Danny were helping to ease the other wolves into acceptance, but it would take time.

So Lydia just showing up on Hale territory unannounced was extremely uncharacteristic of the usually wily female. Fortunately for her only Derek was home as he had cleared the pack out so he could be alone with Stiles.

"Derek, hi. Stiles didn't want to bring me, but I figured I'd need to be here for this." She uncomfortably fidgeted with the large bag hanging on her arm. "Uh, just hear him out, please? Don't go all Derek Hale on him."

He'd opened his mouth to respond when he'd heard Stiles' heartbeat coming faster than normal and he'd reacted, leaving Lydia standing on the porch as he raced to the kitchen to see why his lover was so anxious.

Now he knows.

"I told you not to go Derek Hale on him!" Lydia stands in the kitchen doorway like an avenging angel, the light streaming behind her creating a halo effect. Of course, she is more devilish than angelic, but the sight is burned into his mind. _This_was what Stiles had wanted half his life, pined and plotted, and obviously finally gotten. Despite his resolve to react maturely from here on out, Derek's wolf isn't so sanguine at the threat to his claim on Stiles and bares his teeth at her, hackles raised.

Lydia rolls her eyes and walks closer, obviously not heeding the danger signs. "There is no competition here, Derek. He's all yours. Well, maybe not after you called his precious baby girl names, but we all know he's very forgiving. Just look at how long he put up with Scott." Her mouth purses a little and they both freeze, the silence weighted with the screams of the dead at the hands of the Argents. The moment passes, though the ghosts still linger, but Derek doesn't mind them anymore and just adds them to the others who trail behind him.

"Josie, for all that we love her, wasn't intended - "

"They never are in the heat of the moment."

Lydia's blue eyes narrow and Derek swears he hears the crackle of Hell's flames. "Don't interrupt me. Stiles never wanted me, not really. I was an infatuation; you're the love of his life. Don't fuck it up, Hale, especially over something -" here she stops, visibly upset and trying to hide it, " - over something we couldn't control."

Her head bows as the smell of salt rises in the air. Derek feels like shit as he remembers the mind control Peter employed with her and realizes the indomitable willful girl of five years ago is no more. She is cracked and broken just like the rest of them, albeit in a slightly different way. He suddenly doesn't want to know how Josie came to be and not because of jealousy; he knows this won't be a tale of youthful passion, but a dark and twisted one. It is enough they'd survived Peter, there is no need to know _how._

"Lydia -"

"No, you need to listen. I'll only tell you once and then we'll never speak of it again."

Derek is confused when Lydia reaches for the shoulder ties of her wrap around dress and lets the sides fall open, revealing a pretty lace bra and panty set. At first he barely glances over her flesh, uncomfortable with seeing so much of it, but his mind jerks when he sees pale red lines scoring the flesh. He _looks_this time and sees dozens of teeth marks interspersed with claw marks all over her chest, abdomen, and upper thighs. He knows if she turned he would probably see the same marks littering her back.

"What the fuck?"

"Peter used me as a bargaining chip when we needed to enter new territory. He offered me to any Alpha or Beta he was trying to court; I was an oddity, the human immune to the bite." Derek doesn't ask if she had a choice because he knows she didn't. Humans are generally treated well in packs because they are integrated through familial or mate bonds, but Peter had obviously used her like a toy instead of a reasoning and thinking being; not especially hard to believe given how he'd taken away Stiles' choices. "After Allison - when Stiles became Alpha, he had to fight off some of Peter's Betas and stake his claim on me. It was only the one time, but apparently it was enough."

Her words simply stop and she sags against the counter like a marionette whose strings were cut. Derek reaches out and redresses her, any ill feelings negated beneath the ponderance of truth. Stiles had done what was necessary to protect her against any further depredations and it wasn't a romantic gesture, but a dominance issue. Derek hadn't been there when Peter's power passed to Stiles, hadn't even known about his uncle's demise until three months after the fact, but he'd seen enough of the makeup of that particular pack to know the transition would've been brutal; Peter had chosen his wolves with an eye to a certain viciousness.

Derek, on the other hand, had grown up in a peaceful and loving pack comprised of mostly family, so he'd never been subjected to power plays that often happened with less established wolves, but his parents hadn't sheltered him from the knowledge either, always stressing how important it was to be submissive to his sister's authority so not to compromise pack security. They'd known from a young age that Laura would be Alpha and it was assumed Derek would be her second, even if she mated.

"The pregnancy was hard and the delivery even worse," she continues quietly, her face turned away again. "I nearly bled out so they did an emergency hysterectomy."

"Lydia -"

His tone snaps steel into her spine and she growls low in her throat like an angry wolf.

"No, don't pity me! I have Josie now and she's worth everything, _everything_, we went through."

"You inspire many emotions, but pity isn't one of them."

A small almost smile curves the edges of her lips, and for a brief moment he can see the conniving high school girl he met all those years ago who held her little world in the palm of her hand before it intersected with the supernatural.

"You've made many mistakes, but I'm urging you not to make this one. Kate might've taken away your family, but Stiles is trying to give you one back."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Cacoëthes

**Author**: Sunshineditty

**Series**: Part of the No Regret 'verse

**Word count:** 1,735

**Rating: **T for situation

**Summary**: Derek has a tantrum and Stiles deals.

* * *

"I don't believe in hoping for the best."

"Well, I don't believe in anthropomorphic food. Food should not dance and sing in TV ads encouraging you to buy them for consumption. It's just creepy."

"Wha-?"

"Derek, I get it. I do. But you're gonna have to sack up and either accept this or we're over."

Stiles' hard tone is at odds with the gentle way he cradles Josie, her head nestled against his shoulder. The little girl is drowsing with her thumb sucked into her mouth, though when Derek looks closer, he can see little fangs peeking through her lips. Wolf-born then. He wonders if she has started sprouting fur yet, as she looks around the age when spontaneous shifting will start.

"So what were these past few months? Just a fucking diversion until Lydia got back into town?"

Derek comes around the couch, determined to look at Stiles' face when he speaks. If anything, he's learned that Stiles doesn't have an emotional wall between him and those he cares about, so it should be easy to determine if he speaks the truth or not.

"No," the denial is a breath barely stirring the cub's curls. "I want you to want this. I want you to want me and Josie. If you can't..."

"That's not fair. You spring this on me without any warning and then threaten to take yourself away if I don't fall into line right away. I need more than five minutes to process this."

"It's not like I can just drop the fact I have a kid into casual conversation!"

"You should've tried!"

Derek's vision narrows as his face starts changing shape, nose lengthening and fangs crowding his gums. He's grown into his Alpha skin enough to control his shifts despite provocations, but this is _Stiles_, the only person supernatural or otherwise who's ever been able to breach the barriers he built after Kate.

There is a moment of utter stillness as both Alphas square off and assess one another with crimson colored vision. Derek knows this is an important moment that will determine how their relationship continues from here; while Stiles is probably one of the most laid-back pack leaders he's ever met, at heart he's still an apex predator. Even before the bite, when he was fully human, Stiles had exhibited these qualities, and it was one of many reasons why Peter had taken him so many years ago.

"What bothers you more? Me having a child, or me having the child with Lydia?"

As usual, Stiles cut to the heart of the matter and left Derek reeling. "I-I-I"

"Use your big boy words, Derek."

"I can't deal with this. I'm going out and I hope you'll be gone when I get back." He turns away from the anger and sorrow etched across Stiles' expressive face. "All three of you."

He knows it isn't the right way to handle the matter, but he needs to clear his head of distractions and a run through the forest always helps. The past - the flickering memories of his lost family, hearing about Peter's abuse -is overwhelming him and confusing his wolf. The wolf lives in the now, the present, and can't understand why Stiles gave a cub to someone else when he was mated to them. Werewolves aren't like real wolves, Derek remembers telling a teenaged Stiles eons ago, so adoption is possible as there isn't a biological urge to kill non-related cubs, yet the thought of welcoming a child born of the red-head rankles his raging possessive side. He needs Stiles to be wholly _his_in a way that is impossible; Derek isn't so emotionally damaged he doesn't realize the thrumming desire to consume his lover until they share the same flesh and blood isn't normal or healthy.

It probably stems from how thoroughly Kate fooled him, befuddled his senses, and tricked him into exposing his family to her destructive tendencies. It doesn't matter his age at the time; secrecy was drummed into him since his first words and he utterly betrayed not only his pack, but the generations of wolves who came before and the never-will after. By sharing the same skin, he will never be tricked again by a lover into destroying what he holds most dear. A variation on_ trick me once, shame on me, trick me twice and _I'll tear you apart.

The trail - little more than bent branches on bushes and some stripped leaves - winds around the house and deep into the forest, forcing Derek to concentrate on his bounding lope instead of the turmoil in his heart. He is the last living biological Hale and it is his duty to perpetuate the pack, see it grow into a sustaining force now that peace has come back to the valley. He doesn't fool himself into thinking there wouldn't be territorial incursions by rogue wolves or hunters or other sort of supernaturals, but for now he can rest easier knowing Beacon Hills is once again under his purview.

_Only because of Stiles_, his wolf nudges into his thoughts, reminding him of their lover's tireless efforts in the war against the Argents. This reminder stalls his forward progress and he stops just short of his back porch, still fully wolfed out. He had forgotten in his angst over Lydia's cub how much Stiles had done in order for Beacon Hills to belong to them again free of Argents or any hunters. A small bitter part says Stiles did it solely to avenge Scott's death, but Derek knows that isn't remotely true. If it were, then Stiles would never have returned to the place where his father and best friend were murdered, trying to rebuild a new life with the Alpha who was the catalyst for the entire situation.

The hit comes from behind, teeth biting deeply into the back of his neck, and Derek flies forward under his attacker's weight. He was so caught up in his epiphany, he'd forgotten the basic rule of paranoia: just because you can't see them doesn't mean they aren't there.

Snarling, he turns his head to snap at his enemy, claws scrabbling on the hard-packed earth as he tries to leverage himself upward so he can flip over onto his back. The fangs retreat slightly, and he takes advantage, not caring about the chunk of flesh ripped out with his movement. Derek doesn't hesitate and latches onto the closest limb, crunching down with teeth designed by nature to crush large bones in a few bites; his attacker yelps loudly and a large claw swipes at his face, tearing some of the fur off and causing more of his blood to fly.

The two wolves bowl over one another, snarling and snapping, claws and fangs buried in soft places, each trying to gain the upper hand, but they are too evenly matched, and the other wolf has dirty maneuvers to counter Derek's increasingly desperate moves. They draw apart, both panting in the cold evening air, their breaths puffs of white. The slightly smaller wolf is nearly gray in the waning light and it is only memory that colors in the russet and blond hairs, the brown almost amber colored eyes glaring at him so angrily.

Derek gives up the pretense of not knowing who attacked him and lets his wolf melt away. Stiles tenses, but half-shifts so his face looked more human, though his fangs still curve over his lips.

"Over your tantrum?" Derek mocks, uncomfortable with the charged silence. He doesn't try to avoid the heavy paw swung at his head and rocks back with the hit so it won't break his jaw.

"Yeah because it was me who stomped out over some imagined man pain."

Derek looks away, towards the yard, unable into his lover's eyes when he confesses his thoughts. "I hate the fact you had a cub with Lydia."

"Well, it's not like you can bear kids. You just don't have the hips, much less the, uh, correct opening for it."

"Fuck you, I'm being serious here." He glares indignantly at the younger male.

Stiles has the grace to look a little ashamed of his snarkiness, a trait Derek knows manifested itself whenever he's feeling threatened, harassed, or hell just breathing. "Lydia told you how it happened, yes?" He rubs a hand over his beardless jaw - Derek unwittingly reminded of his countless complaints about how robbed he felt because he wasn't blessed with perma-stubble when he was bitten - and hunches inwardly, as if protecting himself.

It isn't a common pose for him, at least since he returned to Beacon Hills, but it is gut-wrenching because Derek knows the reason behind it. Had known the instant he'd finally tracked down Peter, determined to have it out with his uncle, and saw an almost feral Stiles collared at his side. He'd always assumed Peter had killed the teenaged boy in his maddened state like he did the Sheriff, but never in his wildest dreams had he forseen the other Alpha claiming him as mate.

"You didn't see her like I did," Stiles says quietly, his eyes staring at the railing blindly. "For the first two years she was his puppet, completely and utterly under his control, whored out like some unfeeling sex doll. When I - when Allison killed Peter, and I received his powers, I couldn't leave her as some human bitch so I fucked her until she smelled like _me _and no one else." He quivers with some strong emotion though the smell of rank sweat determines it isn't lust.

Derek feels something deep inside relax because as much as he knows Stiles is _his_, he also knows Stiles harbored an unrequited crush on the girl for _years_. And now there is a tangible reminder of that obsession in the form of a very cute and cuddly cub. Children bonded a couple regardless of what the parents felt for one another and Derek can't trust his good fortune in getting and actually _keeping_Stiles.

"I love Lydia for giving me Josie, but she's-she's not you, okay dude?"

The sincerity in Stiles' eyes is almost Derek's undoing, so he does the only thing he knows could never be mistaken for anything else: he falls to his knees and slowly bares his throat in submission.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Cacoëthes

**Author**: Sunshineditty

**Series**: Part of the No Regrets 'verse

**Word count:** 1,934

**Rating: **T for situation

**Summary: **The packs meet and Derek must make a choice.

* * *

Three black SUVs with darkly tinted windows pull up outside the Hale Pack House, and the wolves lined up outside move restlessly. They look similar to the vehicles hunters drive, but the smell wafting from them isn't human, so no claws or fangs pop out.

_At least not yet_, Derek thinks morosely, ever the optimist. He knows this meeting is a long time coming, especially since he carries Stiles' scent, yet a large part of him doesn't want this to happen. It is better in abstract thought than reality; it means things will change even more, and Derek is resistant to change even after all this time, but he gave his promise and he can't break this one.

"It'll be okay, Derek. We'll make sure they welcome them."

For a moment Derek blinks and it's Boyd standing next to him, a large wall of patient confidence. Of his three original betas, the dark wolf was the best bite, though Danny Mahealani is definitely proving to be a close second. Briefly he wonders who would've been Head Beta had Boyd lived through Allison's assaults, then impatiently refocuses himself to the present tension.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't help Jackson's being a little bitch about this."

He learned after Stiles' impromptu visit with his cub that he was the only one who didn't know about Josie beforehand because Jackson and Danny had known almost from the beginning about the pregnancy;. He desperately tries to avoid the lingering feelings of betrayal despite Stiles' very valid arguments and rational explanations about keeping her a secret and almost succeeds though Danny is very shrewd and intuitive so Derek doesn't think he's fooled at all.

Apparently Gerard Argent had somehow discovered Lydia's secret and sent Jackson to kill her and the baby; it was through this error on his part, not realizing the power of Jackson's love for Lydia in spite of everything, that enabled Stiles to wrest control away and free Jackson. There was an attempt at reconciliation between the two estranged lovers, but the realities of the Hale-Argent war had put a damper on the relationship. He was pretty sure they hadn't resumed anything since Stiles and Lydia returned to Beacon Hills because Jackson had resorted to his high school persona of jackassery and pouting, not a good combination in a house already distraught over two packs coming together.

The driver side door opens on the first vehicle and a small Hispanic woman slides out, her hands gesticulating wildly as she speaks to whomever is still seated inside. Marcus, a long lanky Southerner who speaks with a slow honeyed accent, whines a little. Derek places a hand on his arm and settles the beta without thought; he'd found the kid in a rough neighborhood, beaten nearly to death by one of the barrio drug gangs, and gave him the bite to save his life. After Danny and Jackson, he's the wolf Derek trusts the most.

"Miho, this isn't the best idea you've ever had."

Even with super hearing inherent to werewolves, the response to her fond exasperation isn't audible, and a second later it's obvious why. She opens the back passenger door and a whip-cord lean man gets out, his hands flipping fluidly in a recognizable pattern: he's using American Sign Language. Derek cocks his head intently, measuring the man, and realizes he doesn't carry the scent of wolf. The two other betas standing slightly behind him growl lowly, the twins' angry memories of witches using them in rituals pulsing to the forefront of their minds.

The witch, or warlock depending on the measure of his magic, looks towards the Hale wolves with a clear discerning gaze. His light eyes – either blue or green, it's hard to tell from this distance – flick over them rapidly, proving whatever his ailment, deafness isn't one of them. The female wolf, because she is one despite her size, steps before him and curls her hands at her side. Everyone knows they're supposed to play nice, so she's probably fisting so her claws don't show.

The other car doors open and suddenly the clearing – not really a driveway in the accepted human term – is filled with Stiles' pack, and even Derek is affected by the tension. When Peter was Alpha, Derek was forced into agreeing to a peace treaty because he knew his pack wasn't strong enough to defeat the Argents alone – plus, it allowed him access to Stiles even if under the pretext of battle planning. These wolves, however, weren't there then, so they are strangers. They are_ Stiles'_ wolves, however, men and women he chose or bitten because his instincts found something worthy about them; of the seven arrayed before him, only two are wolf-born, the rest bitten.

_And a witch,_ his wolf helpfully points out, something Derek would've preferred to ignore. While his family had had dealings with witches, it was always a double-edged sword and a lesson he never forgot. Whereas Lydia is an okay presence – her abilities aren't very strong as it was forced into her through whatever magical means Peter had used to claw out of the grave – this new one was an obvious powerhouse and the stink of his magic makes Derek sneeze.

"Bless you," a familiar voice intones. It probably should worry him he didn't hear or smell Stiles, but Derek is aware of his tricky his lover is, and merely shakes his head at his slyness. Tony and Paul, however, aren't so sanguine about a stranger appearing so suddenly amidst them, especially as they hadn't noticed him either. They partially wolf out, their tenseness needing an outlet, so Derek ignores it because he knows Stiles can handle whatever they dish out.

The cuff to the backs of their heads, something you'd give to a cub not twenty-something males, startles them into the facade of humanity, and Stiles winds his arms around Derek's chest, his chin propped on his shoulder.

"Sorry about the equippage," he whispers into Derek's ear, both aware everyone – except for maybe the witch – can hear them. "Emmie demanded it and you know how I'm a sucker for the ladies."

"The name's Imelda," the Hispanic wolf grouses, irritation plain on her face. The nickname does serve to relax her, Derek notes, as if her Alpha being annoying is normal and therefore safe in a possible FUBAR situation.

"And the gorgeous specimen of man behind her," Stiles continues despite Derek's growl at his description, "is Andrew the Great." There is some emphatic signing at the introduction; while Derek can't understand ASL, he's pretty sure it's an insult and a protest aimed at Stiles, probably something along the lines of him being a witch not a magician.

The others – Greg, Janet, Polly, and Jack – are introduced with little fanfare, but Derek can feel his lover tense when he comes to the last two. Both are large-boned barrel-chested men with high foreheads, thick jaws, and broad shoulders; obviously related, though not closely. The younger wolf is fresh from his teens and looks similar, but not alike to the older gray beard. He judges the situation, Stiles' obvious discomfort, and comes to a remarkable conclusion: wolf-born and an uncle-nephew pairing.

"Alpha Hale, we humbly beg permission to be on your land," the uncle husks, his eyes slightly out of focus because he doesn't want to challenge Derek by looking at him directly, but can't bend his head because it insults his own Alpha by offering his submission to someone else. It is a facile gesture, one only natural werewolves would be able to make because they understand pack hierarchy and intricacies better than the bitten; even Stiles, with all of his research and observations, can't quite replicate the correct body language and has gotten into trouble for this lack before.

Derek nods once and then again at the younger wolf when he steps forward with a quiet, "Ronan, sir." They are battle-hardened warriors and he wonders where in hell Stiles had found them. Wolf-born rarely leave their packs voluntarily, unless an Alpha, and these two are definitely betas. He refuses to think of the myriad of deadly reasons to join a new one.

"There's no need to beg _anything_ from him, Callum. We came at his invitation," Stiles chides, obviously not understanding exactly what is going on. Or maybe he does because he unwinds himself and starts towards his pack, ignoring Derek's instinctive reach for him. Danny snickers quietly and Derek turns a scowl on him for it. He's not ashamed of being an anomaly, as two male Alphas mating isn't a common thing though not entirely unheard of, but he doesn't like anyone to laugh at him because of his choices. Danny's face softens from mockery to understanding, and Derek turns away from him even more uncomfortable. He thinks he'd rather have him laughing than knowing; he hasn't even told Stiles how he feels.

Lydia and Jackson are glaringly absent and Derek wonders if they're together. Stiles had appeared from the woods behind the house, so it's possible the red-head had also slipped into their perimeters without notice. He should feel alarmed, he supposes, but his wolf is content at having his _pack_ – the one that formed without his consent before life became even shittier – together again, so he dismisses any concerns. Except for one: the one Stiles had brushed past his betas so he could unbuckle from her car seat.

Josie is clearly awaking from a nap, her small body rife with new and familiar scents. Stiles walks forward to the space between the two packs and presents her to the Hale wolves with a militant look on his face.

"This is my daughter."

Imelda hovers behind Stiles' shoulder, her eyes Beta Blue, as she obviously stifles her protective instinct demanding she shields the Alpha's cub from interlopers. Danny steps forward with the sunshine smile everyone seems to love plastered across his face.

"Hi Josie, I'm your Uncle Danny."

Josie sniffs the air and wrinkles her nose a little as if trying to determine this new smell. She freezes for a moment, then her eyes zone past Danny and latch onto Derek, her mouth falling open as she shrieks "Derry!"

Stiles startles at his daughter's cry, eyebrows high. "Well, don't just stand there. The Queen has summoned you," he jokes.

"Uh, do I have to?"

"Derry, Derry, Derry," Josie chants, her body squirming in her father's hold, her arms outstretched as if she could reach him herself.

"Just get over here, Derek."

Derek thinks about the implications of crossing over to Stiles and taking his child from him; it's an outright declaration of intent to all the wolves present. Even the bitten will understand what it means and he won't be able to take it back. This is the _shit or get off the pot_ moment he'd been trying to avoid for months because he isn't sure of this, regardless of how much he wants Stiles.

Two sets of identically colored amber whiskey eyes weigh and judge his worth and the tight feeling in his chest dissipates when neither turn away. The fifteen-year-old boy who inadvertently helped set his world on fire screams _no, don't trust his love!_ in the back of his mind, but Derek ignores it for the first time. Stiles isn't Kate Argent and has proven himself time and again.

They smell like home when he closes his arms around them both.


End file.
